PS 24.77 

1901 



•pc 



K3 



The Ranch Girl 



A Comedy 
in Four Acts 



THE RANCH GIRL. 



A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS. 

Act First . Open space near a Southwestern Texas 
Railway Station 

Act Second Interior of a Ranch House 

Act Third Same as Act Second 

Act Fourth Same as Act First 

Place Southwestern Texas 

Time The Present 

INCIDENTALLY SHOWING THE POSSIBILITY OF 
WRITING ENGLISH COMEDY IN A STYLE 
BOTH NATURAL AND METRICAL. THE LINES 
CONTAIN THREE BEATS AND HAVE NO MORE 
CHANGES IN METRE THAN SUCH POEMS AS 
THE IL PENSEROSO OF MILTON, OR THE 
CHRISTABEL OF COLERIDGE, FROM WHICH 
LATTER THE FOLLOWING IS TAKEN : 

There is not wind enough to twirl 
The one red leaf, the last of its clan, 
That dances as often as dance it can , etc. 



Printed noi ruBLijjHEP. 



Copyright, 1901, .' ' ', '.\ • .' ' ; , ' 
by •, ' ■ 

George L,. Raymond, 
1810 N St., Washington, D. C. 



LIBHAfiY of CONGRESS 


Two Copies Received 
JU.N 6 1904 


n^ Copyrlfirht Entry 
CLA'^S /P XXc. No. 


cfepYB 






PRESS OF BYRON S. ADAMS. 



Characters. 

Harry Merriman. — A wealthy young man from 
New York, and graduate of Harvard, who is 
visiting the Ranch country in company with 
Alice Alwell and Betsy Blinder, to the latter 
of whom he is engaged to be married. 

Layton Lorn. — A young man from Boston who, 
for some years, has been proprietor of a 
Ranch ; in love with Alice Alwell and brother 
of Winnie Lorn. 

Thomas Gall. — An Eastern man who also is 
proprietor of a ranch ; somewhat of a mis- 
anthrope ; uncle of both Alice Alwell and Betsy 
Blinder. 

Poodle. — Servant of Layton Lorn. 

Winnie Lorn. — Young lady from Boston, sister 
of Layton Lorn, and on a visit to his Ranch. 

Alice Alwell. — Young lady from New York, 
cousin of Betsy Blinder, niece of Thomas Gall, 
and on a visit to his Ranch ; in love with Lay- 
ton Lorn. 

Betsy Blinder. — Young lady from New York, 
cousin of Alice Alwell, niece of Thomas Gall, 
and on a visit to his Ranch ; engaged to be mar- 
ried to Harry Merriman. 

Waiter, Members of a traveling Company of 
Singers, Cowboys or Herdsmen of Ranch. 



Dress and Properties. 

Harry Merrtman. — In Acts I and IV, a gentle- 
man's traveling suit, with or without knee 
breeches. In Acts II and III, a girl's dress 
with bare or open neck and arms, feet visible, 
etc. 

Layton Lorn.— In Acts I and II, slouch hat, col- 
ored shirt, with or without coat, knee breeches 
or top boots; in Act IV, gentleman's traveling 
suit. 

Thomas Gall. — Slouch hat, colored shirt, with 
or without coat, knee breeches or top boots. 

FooDLE. — Slouch hat, colored shirt, top boots. 

Winnie Lorn.— In Acts I and IV, either a travel- 
ing or a mountain dress ; in Acts II and III, 
either a mountain or an indoor working dress; 
in Act I, a cap or a hat without a brim, and 
a veil, also flowers in hand. In Act II a hat 
that can be removed, apron, a note book and 
a bundle of clothes; also belt containing two 
pistols, but these are taken from a table ; in Act 
IV, a hat and sunshade and a fan hanging from 
belt. Also a package of letters. 

Alice Alwell, Betsy Blinder. — Lady's walking 
or traveling suits, carrying umbrellas in Act I, 
and umbrellas with outside cloaks or water- 
proofs in Act III. Betsy has a fan hanging 
from a chain attached to her belt and in Act I 
has a bonnet without a brim and has a package 
containing a brooch. 

Waiter. — A man's suit and a napkin. 

Traveling Singers. — Either in fancy costume 
with knee breeches, or in men's ordinary traveUng 
suits. 

Cowboys or Herdsmen. — Slouch hats, colored 
shirts, top boots, whips, etc. 



THE RANCH GIRL. 



ACT FIRST. 



Scene. — Open space near a Southwestern Texas 
railway station. Mountain scenery hacking. At 
right, betzveen Upper and First Entrances, part 
of a small hotel or restaurant with a bench rest- 
ing against its wall, and in front of it, near the 
middle of the stage, a table, behind which are 
three or more chairs. At left, between Upper 
and Second Entrances part of a railway station 
building with the sign "Junction" printed on it. 
Entrances Right Upper behind hotel. Right 
Second, by a door into hotel {where there 
might be a porch with steps), Right First, in 
front of hotel. Left Upper and Left Second. 
The &urtain rising discloses members of a 
Traveling Band of Singers. 

First Singer. Have you noticed the echoes 

here? 
Second Singer. Very fine ! worth giving a song, 

If merely to hear them applaud us. 

ALL SING. 

Oh, what is the matter, and why do we care 
For an empty, visionless whiff of air? 
Ah, though the wind be nothing to see. 
It bends and batters and breaks the tree; 
And oh, we know a breeze that serves 
To shock and shiver and shatter the nerves, 
And snuff the light of life with a breath ; 
It has nothing to see, but it ends in death — 

Ho ho, ho ho, 

That blow, blow, blow, blow, blow ! 

Oh, what is the matter, and why do we care 
For a silent sight of the sunshine there? 
Ah, though no sound may rouse the ear, 
The bud and blossom of spring are here; 
And oh, we know a sight so bright 
It cheers the world like heavenly light, 
Till far away fly doubt and strife; 
It has nothing to hear, but it lures to life — 

High high, high high. 

That eye, eye, eye, eye, eye ! 



6 The Ranch Girl, 

(As the song ends the sound of an arriving train 

is heard.) 
First Singer. Hello ! The train is coming ! 
Second Singer. Suppose we see who is on it? 

Exeunt — Left Second — All the Singers. 

Enter — Left Upper — Gall, closely followed by 
Alice Alwell. Gall has on a soft felt hat, 
colored shirt and top boots. Alice is in a 
fashionable traveling costHime. Gall is loaded 
down zvith an umbrella, valise, shawl-strap, etc, 
Alice carries a sunshade. 

Gall. So glad to see you two girls. 

And, Alice, how you have grown ! 

The image, too, of your mother. 
Alice. You know how to compliment, uncle. 
Gall. (Looking around, then crossing the stage 

to bench in front of hotel, and placing luggage 

on or near it.) 

Your journey pleasant? 
Alice. Delightful, 

Not a single detention. 
Gall. No ? 

Attention in plenty, however. 

(Pointing tozvard Left.) 
Alice. You mean Mr. Merriman? 
Gall. Yes. 

His running into you then 

Was not an accident? 
Alice. No ; 

It was not ''running into," but ''after." 
Gall He seems to have clung to you, too, 

As a needle clings to a magnet. 

And which one forms the attraction? 
(Looking at her sharply.) 
Alice. Miss Betsy, if you must know. 

The two are engaged (both sit at a table). 
Gall (Taking bill of fare from the table, and 

rapping for Waiter.) 

Engaged ? 

For long? — and why not married? 

No cash for it? 
Alice. He has, yes. 

The match is brilliant for her. 

I have thought though — he met her at Cam- 
bridge — 

It was only a college engagement. 
Gall. And what is a college engagement? 



The Ranch GirL 7 

Alice. Why, that of a home-sick boy, 

Who wants a mother or sister. 
Gall. More prose than poetry, Alice, 

In that. 
Alice. But his coming out here — 

Gall. {Rapping again for the Waiter.) May 
prove him a sensible man. 

Our natures are much like buckets — 

Slop over the most when jolted. 

And what jolts more than a journey? 

No wise man takes his physic 

Until he has had it well shaken. 
Alice. You mean that Harry? — 
Gall. {Rapping once more for Waiter.) I 
mean 

That it often might be as well 

To take one's wedding journey 

Before, not after, the church 

Has shut one out from hearing. 

Till he or his mate are dead, 

Any more of the wedding music. 
Alice. But Harry is not like that. 

He is never serious, uncle. 
Enter — Right Second — Waiter. 
Gall. ( To Waiter. ) You think it economy, eh ! 

To keep your customers waiting 

Till at their hungriest? Well? 

{Looking at hill of fare and handing it to 
Alice) — 

And Alice, what will you have? 

{To Waiter.) Youjgerve a regular dinner? 
Waiter. In half an hour. 

Gall. {Looking toward Alice ivho nods approv- 
ingly). 

Serve us then 

A dinner for four. 

{To Alice.) And so 

You think your jovial friend 

Not serious, Alice. I doubt it. 

The birds that sing most are the birds 

Whose natures the most need singing; 

And the men that make merry the most 

Are the men whose natures most need 

A world that appears to be merry. 
Alice. With Harry it seems to be 

His exhuberant life, bubbling over. 
Gall. A student of human nature. 



8 The Rajich GirL 

Or lunacy — much the same — 

Finds out that those whose wits 

Are the first to bubble over 

Are the first to lose their wits ; 

That the mind whose thought comes first 

As a joke to be cracked, is the mind 

That is first to be cracked itself. 

Ay, Alice, the lightest moods, 

And the brightest too, are often 

Mere spray flung up from waves 

That a serious blow is tossing. 
Alice. Humph ! You seem roiled yourself. 
Gall. I married once you remember — 

Miss Betsy's aunt; and now 

Do you think that I live with her, eh? 

{Looking toward Left Second Entrance.) 

But there they come. It reminds me 

That I must see to my donkeys. 
Gall and Alice rise. 

Exeunt — Right First — Gall and Alice. 

Enter — Left Second — Betsy^ in fashionable 
traveling costume^ wearing a hat or bonnet 
without a brim and carrying a fan, a large um- 
brella and a small package. 

Betsy. {Looking back toward Left, and solil- 
oquizing in a vexed tone.) 
Now, what is that Harry doing? 
He has left me again, all alone. 
I never saw such a — why ! 
{Sitting at the table and opening the package 

in her hand.) 
I had almost forgotten the mail 
That uncle just handed me. — Ah! — 
{Opening the package, and taking from a box 

a brooch.) 
The brooch Aunt Clara had promised. 
Absurd to send it out here, 
Though it was my birthday! Wait! — 
{Looking toward the Left with a meditative 

air. ) 
It was when I told Harry I thought 
It was he had invited us girls 
To the ball at the Harvard club — 
It was then he proposed to me. Humph ! 
{Looking at brooch, and then toward Left.) 
I think I know who sent it. 



The Ranch GirL 9 

Yet, I am not sure of it, am I? 

And Harry? — Suppose it was not he? — 

He ought to have done it, and I, 

I mean to' give him a lesson. 

He has been so backward of late. 

Enter — Left Second — Harry in traveling costume 
— loaded down with shawl-straps^ umbrellas, 
valises J etc. 

Betsy. (Rising and rushing at him, causing her 

umbrella to be thrust violently toward him.) 

O, Harry, you dear old thing ! 
Harry. Hold on. Do you think me a reindeer 

To be gone for with an umbrella? 
Betsy. {Holding up the brooch.) 

But, Harry, just look at this brooch. 

It has come already, you see. 

And now you know my reason — 
Harry. {Putting his luggage on one of the 

chairs. ) 

But I— 
Betsy. No matter, now, Harry. 

No need of your saying a word. 
Harry. It was not — 
Betsy. Oh, no; it was not— 

Not told me, but then I could guess. 
Harry. But it might be unjust — 
Betsy. At least, not so to your heart ; 

Nor to mine, if I wanted to think it. 

{Suddenly changing the subject.) 

Are you going to leave soon, Harry? ^' • 

Harry. Depends on my business. 
Betsy. What ? 

Harry. On my business. 
Betsy. Humph, what is that? ■ 

Harry. {Arranging the luggage.) 

Just now, attending to you. 
Betsy. {Shaking the brooch at him.) 

You would like to spend all of your life 

Attending to some one's wants. 
Harry. But, really, now, that brooch — 
Betsy. {Coquettishly placing her fan on his 

shoulder.) 

Come, come, what I said was true. 

You would like to spend — 
Harry. Yes, but I 

Was talking of getting, not spending, 



lo The Ranch Girl. 

Of business. 
Betsy. Business ? 

Harry. Yes — 

The art of getting and keeping 

What every one else is wanting. 
Betsy. (Taking the words as a compliment to 

herself.) 

Oh, Harry, you flatter one so ! 
Enter — Right Second — Waiter with tablecloth in 

hand. 
Harry. {To Waiter.) 

Has any one ordered our dinner? 
Waiter. {To Harry.) 

A man here ordered a dinner 

For four. 
Harry. {Pointing toward Right First En- 
trance.) 

Was it that man? 
Waiter. {Looking toward Right First En- 
trance. ) 

Yes. 
Harry. All right! How soon can we have it? 
Waiter. In twenty-five minutes, I think. 
Exit — Right Second — Waiter — very slowly. 
Harry. {Looking after the Waiter.) 

That w^aiter is like myself. 

Whenever I have to wait, 

I much prefer to sit down. 

{Motioning to chairs, Betsy and Harry sit 
down.) 
Betsy. Do I look as well in this hat. 

As I did in the other one, Harry? 
Harry. Oh, no. 
Betsy. {Rather reluctantly.) Why, others think 

"Yes." 

And you ought to think, you ought. 

That / always look well in all hats. 
Harry. But the other hat had a brim; 

And, whenever the sun is shining. 

Who could look as well at things 

Tn a hat that has not a brim? 
Betsy. {Shaking her finger at him.) 

A regular Midas, Harry! 

Turn everything that you touch — 
Harry. Into gold? 

Betsy. No, something better. 

Harry. One tickling touch of my hand 



The Ranch GirL ii 

Could make one a Merriman, eh? 
Betsy. It would be so much for us both 

To be one in everything, Harry. 
Harry. You women all want that — 

To be won; but some want the men 

A little more zvon than themselves. 

And when both are made one, which is it? 

It is sometimes the one that is not won. 
Betsy. How silly you are, when you try. 

Last night I dreamt — 
Harry. About 

Late suppers, or grandmothers, which? 
Betsy. Shall I tell you ? I thought I had wings. 
Harry. An angel? 

Betsy. A humming bird — 

Harry. Humming? 

At what? 
Betsy. Why, around a rose 

That rose — 
Harry. And fell — 

Betsy. And fell? 

Why, what do you think me describing? 
Harry. Why, humming in sleep, was it not? 

Or the lungs that make the humming? 

And rose and fell will fit either. 
Betsy. My humming in sleep ! — in sleep ! 

That is not a pleasant suggestion. 
Harry. Then what were you going to say? 
Betsy. That rose round which I was humming, 

Was you. 
Harry. And that reminds me 

That / had a dream. 
Betsy. What was it? 

Harry. I forget what the dream was about; 

But when I woke up a musquito 

Was humming and — 
Betsy. Oh, now, Harry ! 

Enter — Right First — Alice and Gall. 
Alice: Come look at our wagons out here. 
Harry and Betsy rise. 
Betsy. (After giving a spiteful look at Harry, 

to Gall.) 

A thirty-mile ride is long. 

Do you think there will be any danger? 
Gall. Not unless you fall out by the way. 

The wagon has seats without backs. 
Exeunt— Right First— Alice and Betsy. 



12 The Ranch Girl. 

(Gall continues to Harry.) 

If you were but going with us — 
Harry. {Placing his hand on his pistol pocket 

then extending hands.) 

My arms might support them, you think? 
Exit — Right First — Harry. 
Gall. {Looking away from Harry.) 

If I know Betsy, I think 

If you tried to support her long, 

You would both fall out together. 

Exit — Right First — Gall. 

Enter — Left Upper — Layton Lorn and Winnie 
Lorn. Lorn has broad-brimmed Mexican felt 
hat, colored shirt and high topped boots. Win- 
nie is in moimtain costume and cap without 
brim {so that the veil, to be mentioned pres- 
ently, can be bound over her eyes). She carries 
wild flowers in her hand, which, presently, she 
places on the table. She seats herself at the 
right of this table and Lorn at the left. 

Lorn. Our team should have been here now. 

You will shun another excursion. 

I fear I have tired you out. 
AViNNiE. No, Laytie, not in the least. 

I had such a lovely walk — 

That is Foodie and I — before lunch. 

He took me off on the hill ; 

And, the moment we reached its brow, 

We saw just down below us 

The dearest of little valleys. 

All covered with prairie flowers, 

Like a bed with a patch-work spread. 

You see, I have brought you some. 

{She begins to make a little bouquet for a but- 
ton hole.) 
Lorn. I am glad that you take to flowers. 

I fear you will find little else 

Out here to enjoy. 
Winnie. I shall have, 

For one thing, my brother Latie. 
Lorn. Not much of the time, I take it. 

I am kept very busy, you know. 
V/innie. And then I shall have the sheep, 

And the cows, and the dogs, and the men. 
Lorn. Such men ! You will not take much 

To them. 



The Ranch GirL 13 

Winnie. They are animals, too. 

Lorn. If you had your choice, I suppose, 

You would rather have had them flowers. 
Winnie. I think so; for then, you know — 

(^She rises, and begins to pin her bouquet on 
Lorn's breast.) 
Lorn. At times, might be ornamental? 
Winnie. {Standing off, and regarding the bou- 
quet.) 

They are ornamental, at times. 
Lorn. To pin to, or tie to, Winnie? 

There are no such men out here. 
Winnie. And no such women, old boy — 

The reason why I am here with you. 
Lorn. A reason, as well, why I 

Should father you, Winnie. See here — 

Have been tempted again by those flowers. 

You must keep your veil down — so. 

(Rising and pinning Winnie's veil over her 
face.) 

The sun is too bright for your eyes. 

A girl that has measles at twenty 

Must be treated as if she were ten. 
Enter — Right Upper — Harry and Betsy, and 

watch Lorn and Winnie, vuhose face is now 

wholly concealed. 
Betsy. As I live ! It is Layton Lorn. 

I knew he had gone on a ranch. 

It is likely he lives close by here. 

You know he was once engaged. 

Or as good as engaged, to Alice. 
Harry. Miss Alwell? 
Betsy. Yes. He was poor. 

Her father broke off the engagement; 

He came out west. We had heard 

Of another attachment; and look — 

His brand new wife, I suppose. 

(Starting forward.) 

I am going to meet her. 
Harry. Wait ! — 

Let us think, a moment, of Alice. 

If the three were to come together, 

And a spark of the old love lived, 

Who knows? — It might start a fire — 
Betsy. Of blushes, I see. What a joke! 
Harry. (Surprised and troubled.) 

You think lost love is a joke? 



14 The Ranch GirL 

{To himself as he turns to one side.) 
We laugh at it, yes, I know. 
And so does the devil — about 
The only thing that he laughs at. 
And a deal of fun, there is, too, 
For him on the earth, I suppose. 
Betsy. What is that? 
Harry. I was thinking — 

Betsy. Of me? 

Harry. (Surprised, yet signiUcantly.) 
Perhaps. We were talking of Alice. 
Betsy. You think more of Alice than me? 
Harry. I think more of her than of them. 
{Pointing tozvard Winnie and Lorn.) 
You deem it best they should meet? 
Betsy. If not, they will have to. 
Harry. Humph, humph! 

Betsy. {Advancing tozvard Lorn and Winnie 
from the left.) 

Why, why, Mr. Lorn, as I think. 
Lorn. — Miss Blinder ! — and what brought you 

here? 
Betsy. Just came from New York on a visit. 
You know my uncle, perhaps, 
Thomas Gall, whose ranch is close by. 
Lorn. Delighted to welcome you, too ! 
Here, Winnie, Miss Blinder — an old 
Acquaintance of mine. 

(Winnie rises and exchanges hows with 
Betsy.) 
Betsy. So happy! 

{Introducing Merriman.) 
My friend, Mr. Merriman. 
(Lorn and Harry shake hands.) 
Lorn. {To Harry.) 

Strangers 
Are welcome to Texas. 
Harry. Am pleased 

To meet you. 
{Exchanging hows with Winnie.) 

And you, Mrs. Lorn. 
(Harry. Lorn and Betsy talk to one another.) 
Winnie. {Aside.) 

Humph! Misses! — but all his own fault. 
And men never take off their coats 
And sit down in the sleeves of their souls 
With a woman unless she is married. — 



The Ranch Girl, 15 

I may see him without his coating. 
Lorn. {To Betsy.) 

So, so ! Thomas Gall is your uncle ! 

Then we shall be neighbors, yes, yes; 

Only twenty-five miles apart. — 

Can show you out here both ranches 

(Pointing tozvard Right First Entrance.) 
Exit — Right First — Gall and Betsy. 

(Winnie resumes her seat. Harry takes the 
seat left by Lorn.) 
Harry. Only twenty-five miles apart. — 

Are very near neighbors of yours. 
Winnie. And yet I have heard of neighbors 

One wished to have further away. 
Harry. I suppose that you like it out here. 
Winnie. As far as I know it, I do. 
Harry. Not lived here long? 
Winnie. No — in Boston. 

Harry. In Boston? 
Winnie. In Cambridge. 

Harry. In Cambridge? 

Winnie. In Cambridge. 
Harry. Three times and out. 

You have it. 
Winnie. Am dreadfully sorry. 

The experienced traveler now, 

In writing home, I suppose. 

Will be forced to draw on his fancy 

To paint his graphic encounter 

With the wild, rude, horrible ranch girl. 
Harry. The means of his observation 

Were limited — saw through a veil 

Very darkly. 
Winnie. Afraid of the sun. 
Harry. My father's? 
Winnie. Oh, yes ; — so bright ! 

You, too, know Cambridge, perhaps. 
Harry. When I was a student at Harvard, 

I used to know Boston; but Cambridge — 

Well, Cambridge I sometimes would cut. 
Winnie. That is strange. 
Harry. What cutting it? 

Winnie. No; 

But I think I have seen you before. 
Harry. I wonder if I have seen you. 

You have an advantage — that veil — 
Winnie. I think it was on the first base. 



1 6 The Rajich Girl. 

Harry. You are right. You saw me? 
Winnie. And heard you. 

Harry. Humph ! Somebody must have done 

well! 

If I yelled so loud that you heard me? 
Winnie. Why, yes, if I heard the club. 
Harry. The club ! — That is good — when it made 

A hit at the ball. 
Winnie. It was not 

At the ball that I heard it sing 
Harry. But how could a ball-club sing 

Except — 
Winnie. But / mean the glee club. 
Harry. First bass on the glee club ! Humph ! 

humph ! 

The only bass bawling of mine 

Was on the bass-ball-nine. There was 

A Merryman, though, on the glee club. 

But he was much darker than I. 

If you lifted your veil, you might see it. 
Winnie. Have no curiosity, thank you. 

I heard you, perhaps, at Commencement. 
Harry. Still wrong! None heard me speak 

there. 

Not a man of such standing, you see ; 

But of understanding, looked out 

For my bass, and the ball at my feet 

Put my whole sole into my work. 
Winnie. And played the wag? 
Harry. Oh, yes ; 

And where a wag was in place — 

At the tail of the class. 
Winnie. You got 

One part of the training. 
Harry. I did, — 

Got set on. Yes 
Winnie. I mean 

You learned to live by your wits. 
Harry. But that is the right of the woman. 
Winnie. What? — not to live by her work? 
Harry. Oh, no ; but to work by her wits. 
Winnie. — But, honestly, now, you know 

That we work as much as the men? 
Harry. Why "honestly"? 
Winnie. Why do you ask? 

Harry. Because in a world of donkeys, 

All trying to hide their ears 



The Ranch Girl, 17 

In a lion's hide that hides nothing, 

How can one be wholly honest 

Yet wholly polite? You see 

Dishonesty is to politeness 

What Latin is to a doctor. 

Or pedantry is to a teacher, 

Or lace to a last year's ball dress. 

We all see through it; and yet 

We all say nothing about it. 
Winnie. And you really think we women 

Work less than the men. I should like 

To set you at housekeeping. 
Harry. Madam, 

There are women that I would give all 

I am worth to have set me at that. 
Winnie. Your hands could not stand it. 
Harry. Oh, yes; 

My hands could stand a good deal; 

Why I could stand on them myself — 

Are plenty large. Did you lift 

Your veil, you could see them more clearly. 

{He thrusts his hands toward her, as both are 
sitting. She takes them in hers and looks at 
them intently.) 

And what are you trying to find? — 

The marks of toil, or of soil ? 
Winnie. Of character. Surely you know 

Your hand is your fortune? 
Harry. Is it? — 

You say that to me as a man. 

But the face is the woman's fortune. 

Not fair I should give you mine; 

And you not give me yours. 
{Moving his head as if to peek through her 
veil; Winnie looks at his hands.) 
Enter — Right Upper — Betsy and Alice. 
Betsy. {Advancing, and speaking to Alice.) 

Why, what in the world are they doing? 
Harry. {Looking up at Betsy.) 

I am giving my hand to her, Betsy. 
And she is to get my fortune. 
Betsy. Your fortune? 
Harry. I said so. Perhaps 

She will tend to yours first. Sit down. 
{Rising, and offering his seat to Betsy, who 

draws hack.) 
Oh, now ! We are not at a game, 



1 8 The Ranch Girl, 

To be lost by showing your hand. 
Betsy. {Turning to Alice.) 

It is perfectly shocking. 
(Harry reseats himself. Winnie looks at his 

hands. ) 
Alice. {To Betsy, as both move toward Left 

First Entrance. ^ 

What is it? 
Betsy. {Pointing toward Winnie.) 

That woman was holding his hand. 
Alice. Whose? — Harry's? — Absurd! — You know 

it. 

It was only one more of his jokes. 
Betsy. And you know that I, Alice Alwell, 

Was never brought up in that way. 
Alice. In what way? 
Betsy. {Pointing toward Winnie.) 
In that way, Alice. 

And I shall have nothing to do 

With a woman like that. 
Alice. Who is she? 

Betsy. Who is she? — Why Layton Lorn's wife. 
Alice. {Greatly agitated.) 

His wife? — and Layton's? 
Betsy. These men — 

You never know what they will do. 

Some half-gypsy girl, I suppose 

He has picked up out here on the ranch. 
Alice. {To herself.) 

His wife? — and my only reason 

For coming out here was to meet him? 
Enter — Right First — Lorn. 

And there — yes, yes — it is he. 

If this be the truth? — but courage! 
Lorn. {Advancing eagerlv to shake hands with 

her.) 

Why, Alice, are you out here too. 

I can hardly believe my own eyes. 

Why this ! — it is like old times. 

(Alice takes his hand and bows stiffly.) 

(Lorn looks down at his attire, as if suspect- 
ing this to be the reason of her stiffness.) 

Yes, yes. I do appear rough. 

But a few years more of this, 

And I shall go back independent. 
Enter hurriedly — Right Second — Gall. 
Gall. {To Alice and Betsy.) 



The Ranch GirL 19 

Our lunch is all ready, at last. 

{To LoRN^ shaking hands.) 

Good day, Mr. Lorn, will you join us? 

If not, you will have to excuse them. 
Lorn. Yes, yes, but on the condition 

That all of you soon visit us. 
Gall. Oh, certainly! — soon as they wish it. 
Lorn. (Shaking hands with Betsy and then 

with Alice.) 

Good day, then ; and make it to-morrow. 
Alice. {To Lorn.) 

Are you living alone out here? 
Lorn. I have been, but now I have her, 

{Pointing to Winnie.) 

So lovely! — I want you to know her. 

{As Alice shrinks hack looking toward the 
hotel) 

Of course, not now, if no time. 

But I hope you will bear in mind 

That, however things may have changed, 

We should never forget each other. 

(Lorn turns toward Harry and Winnie, who 
rise from their seats.) 
Betsy. {To Alice, for whom she has been wait- 

ing.) 

He said you should never forget; 

And a married man, too ! 
Alice. Sh ! — sh ! — 

Exeunt — Right Second — Alice and Betsy. 
Lorn. {To Harry and Winnie.) 

You two appear to be friends. 

{To Harry.) 

You must come and see us. Come often. 

I have to go off at times, 

For half of the day, and more ; 

And Winnie will feel it a godsend 

For some one to make things lively. 

If riding out on the ranch. 

Come over just as you are. 

We are free and easy out here. 
Harry. (Shaking hands with Winnie and 

Lorn.) 

Oh, thank you. Be sure that I will. 

{To himself, as he turns toward Right Second 
Entrance,) 

Should think they zi^ci^e free and easy. 

Divorce mills are handy here, yes. 



20 The Ranch GirL 

Exit — Right Second — Harry. 

Winnie. {Excitedly taking her veil down.) 

But, why did you urge him so 

To come to the ranch to see me? 

A perfect stranger, like that ! 
Lorn. Oh, no ; not- a perfect stranger. 

I have known all about him for years; 

And a fine fellow too. You will like him, 
Winnie. Did you hear what he called me? 
Lorn. What ? 

Winnie. {Laughing.) 

Not Miss, but Misses. 
Lorn. He did? 

I wonder if that could have be§n 

The trouble with Alice Alwell? 

You told him, of course, his mistake? 
Winnie. Not L 
Lorn. Why not? 

Winnie. Do you know, 

He is just the most charming man 

That I ever met in my life. 
Lorn. You think that answers my question ?- 

It sounds like a woman's reason. 
Winnie. Perhaps; and perhaps it is. 

CURTAIN. 



The Ranch Girl, 21 



ACT SECOND. 

Scene. — The interior of Ranch House. Backing, 
at Right Center, is a window. Between the 
place of Right Center and of Right Third En- 
trance, are two pegs, on one of which hangs 
a large overcoat, to he worn by Lorn. Near 
the place of Right Third Entrance, are shelves 
on which J in connection with other things 
readily suggesting themselves, are a large tin 
wash-pan and two other tin-pans, and a dish 
containing a large quantity of rice. On the 
floor, in front of these shelves is a slop-pail 
also a bucket full of water in which bucket is 
a tin-dipper. Backing, at Left Center is a table 
surmounted by a closed closet never opened. 
In the table is a drawer containing two belts. 
One of them can be fastened around the waist 
of Lorn and the other around that of Winnie. 
In each belt are two pistols. Those in the belt 
of Winnie can be easily taken from it. Be- 
tween the place of the Left Upper Entrance and 
the Left Third Entrance is a washstand with 
bozvl and pitcher. Above the washstand is a 
viirror, and beside the mirror hangs a towel, 
evidently intended for the hands and face. 
Near the place of Left Third Entrance, is a 
small table on which is a wet dishcloth and a 
holder to be used in lifting the tea-kettle. Near 
the place of Left Front Entrance, is a cooking- 
stove; and on it is a tea-kettle. Beside the 
stove, near the middle of the stage, are two 
chairs. Behind them, in the middle of the 
stage, is a table spread with a white cloth, on 
zvhich are unwashed dishes left from a meal — 
plates, tumblers, etc. Entrances by doors at 
Right Second Entrance, and Left Upper En- 
trance. A door, never opened is at Left Second 
Entrance. 

Enter — Right Second — Lorn. 

{He hangs his hat on the peg near the door, sits 
in a chair near the stove, and prepares to 
smoke.) 



22 The Ranch GirL 

Lorn. How kind it has been in Wipnie 

To bring me some of her sunshine ! 

I am more than ever afraid, though, 

She will find the ship of her hope 

Is beached out here on a sand-bank. 

I feel so myself without Alice. 

Well, well, I thought I had learned 

To control and suppress my feelings. 

But the other day when I met her, 

The touch of her hand, as of old. 

Set all my nerves in a quiver, 

As if I were a bundle of wires 

And she the electric motor. 

No wonder they say that life 

Is electric. I know with me. 

When my nerves go thrilling like that. 

No other life seems worth having. 
Enter — Right Second — Winnie in mountain dress 

and hat, zvhich latter she removes and takes 

seat in chair near Left Center. 

But here comes Winnie again. 

If a nature so sympathetic 

Were once to see my thoughts 

Through the veil of my loneliness, Humph! 

She would wear the same veil herself. 

{To Winnie.) 

Well, Winnie, I hope that you find it 

Not wholly stupid out here. 
Winnie. I scarcely ever enjoyed 

Myself so much in my life. 

Every atom of air is as keen 

And as bright as a dart of a Cupid 

To tingle one's blood to a glow 

And make one in love with all things. 

And we have so much to see ! 
Lorn. You have enterprise, Winnie. The most 

Of the people out here have to hunt 

As much for a thing to see 

As they do for a thing to eat. 
Winnie. They do? — with the sheep and the cat- 
tie 

That keep up their going and coming; 

And clouds of grasshoppers flying, 

And coyotes and partridges darting 

Up out of the rocks and the grasses, 

And rattlesnakes turning to life 

The very sticks at your feet ! 



The Ranch GirL 23 

The most enlivening place 

I ever' set foot in, Laytie ! 

I have just had a ride with Foodie. 

We went over here three miles 

To visit a praire-dog-town 

We found such a lovely valley; 

And, at last, we spied three owls. 

At first I thought they were bird's nests, 

Bushed up on a dead tree's branches; 

But Foodie called them watchmen — 

Night watchmen, you know, of the dog-town. 

I wonder whether they guard 

The dogs the most, or haunt them. 

Well, then, as we passed the owls, 

We pounced, full drive, on the town. 

The dogs were sunning themselves 

On the tops of their little mounds. 

When Foodie drove in among them, 

You ought to have seen them dodging 

And darting down to their holes. 

It seemed to me just like charging 

Through hills of elephant ants. 

You do everything here out west 

On a very big scale. 
Enter — Right Second — Foodle with slouch hat, 

red shirt and pants stuck in his hoots. 
Lorn. {To Foodle.) 

Well, Foodle, 

I am glad you are taking such care 

Of my sister. She says, thanks to you. 

She is having a very good time. 
Foodle. Exactly the thing as I likes. 

But there boys be a-come outside 

As wants to see yer right off. 
Lorn. Is it so? I will go to them then. 
Exit — Right Second — Lorn and Foodle. 
Winnie {to herself as she fills the time needed 

for Lorn's absence by moving around the room, 

and arranging and placing plates on table.) 

Ugh, ugh ! no need to tell Laytie 

About that rattlesnake, ugh ! 

Why, it seemed as if it had dropped 

Down out of my very dress. 

And they say they slip into houses. 

Ugh, ugh! Why, mice would be nothing. 

You have only to shake at them so. 
{Shaking skirts.) 



24 The Ranch Girl. 

But snakes. — No wonder that Eve 

x\te the apple at bid of a snake ! 

I think that 1 might have eaten 

A peck of them, seeds and all. 
Enter — Right Second — Lorn. 

Lorn. {Moving about the room, evidently pre- 
paring to go away.) 

Bad news for you, Winnie. A band 

Of Mexicans, twelve miles south. 

Have made a raid on our ranch, 

And driven off one of our herds. 
Winnie. {Alarmed.) 

And will they come here, and attack us? 
Lorn. No; anywhere else but here. 

A man who fights with thieves 

Has justice to fight beside him. 

They show their backs to the one 

And they dare not face the other. 

What I wanted to say is this : 

That I must be off to find them. 
Winnie. {More alarmed.) 

But, Laytie, they might kill you. 
Lorn. {Changing his hoots for riding boots.) 

There is not the least -fear of that. 

We have many more men than they. 

They are all, too, a set of cowards. 

To take aim they would have to face us. 
Winnie. But when shall I see you again? 

To-night, do you think — for supper? 
Lorn. Oh, no ; not so soon — I fear. 

I may not be back till to-morrow. 
Winnie. You are going to leave me alone? 
Lorn. Yes, that was my bad news, Winnie. 

You, see, this may be a question 

Of thousands of dollars for me. 

If thieves were no more than rats. 

You would have to begin by fighting; 

Or else be run over completely. 
Winnie. And I must stay here? 
Lorn. {Putting on his overcoat.) Of course. 

{Then, seeing Winnie's anxiety.) 

There is nothing to fear for, Winnie; 

But only you may feel lonely. 
Winnie. Yet Foodie will stay? 
Lorn. Oh, yes ; 

And the boys — all those not with me. 



The Ranch Girl, 25 

They are sure to protect you, Winnie. 

You must keep them, though, from the spirits. 

(Placing his hand on the closed closet backing 
at Left Center.) 

If not, our whiskey here 
Might play the devil inside them. 
So you must be careful, Winnie, 
To keep the closet well locked. 

(Giving her a key and then another.) 

I will give you this other key too — 

{Drawing out the drawer in the table backing 
at Left Center, and taking from it pistols at- 
tached to a belt.) 

If Foodie should want you to leave here — 

There is no better guide, you know^ 

You take out these, and wear them. 
Winnie. (Drazuing back.) 

I — take? — but they might go off. 
Lorn. But not without you, I hope. 

If you go, do not leave them behind; 

Or some one else might get them 

(Noticing Winnie's agitation.) 

But you poor little thing, you are trembling ! 

Perhaps, I ought not to go. 

Humph ! What are a few thousand dollars 

Compared to you ! I will not. 
Winnie. No, Laytie, you must. I came here 

To help you. Oi course, at first, 

You startled me ; but I would rather, 

A thousand times, have you go 

Than not. And if I be trembling, 

It is more than half, because 

It thrills me to think of what 

I can do for you — yes — so go. 
Lorn. (Putting on one of the brace of pistols, 

leaving another in the drawer, and giving the 

key of the drawer to Winnie. A horse is 

heard galloping up to the door.) 

A glorious girl you are, Winnie. 

And, really I ought to go. 

And the danger is only a myth — 

Good bye, take care of yourself; 

And do not be anxious now, promise. 



26 The Ranch Girl, 

Exit — Right Second — Lorn, after bidding Win- 
nie good bye. 

Winnie. (Following him to the door and Ulling 
in the time by watching him till the horse is 
heard galloping away, then she walks about 
the room.) 

It is dreadful, to stay here alone, 
Alone with those horrible drunkards, 
And the raiding thieves so near! 
And only that half-dog Foodie 
To take care of me, if there be danger. 
I wonder how far it is 
To the nearest ranch, and the way there. 
I will find out from Foodie. — Here, Foodie. 

{Calling to Foodie from the doorway at Right 
Second Entrance.) 

Enter — Right Second — Foodle. 

I want you to tell me. Foodie, 

How near is the nearest ranch. 
FoouLE. Oh, a matter of twenty-five mile. 
Winnie. You mean the nearest large ranch. 

But I mean that small one nearer. 

The one that I saw — 
FooDLE. Oh, that — 

But they don't amount to nothin' 
Winnie. But whose house is it? Who live 

there ? 
FooDLE. ( Superciliously. ) 

Why, didn't I tell you once? 

A couple o' green young chaps. 
Winnie. They are men from the north, not so? 
Foodle. Them green kind usually is. 
Winnie. (Aside.) 

They are northerners. — Thanks for that! 

(To FoODLE.) 

How far is their house from here? 
FooDLE. Ten mile, perhaps. 
Winnie. Now, Foodie, 

You know I am left in your care. 
FooDLE. Yes, the boss was tellin' me how 

I must keep an eye on you. 
Winnie. Was he? 

(Aside.) 

You expect to be master, eh ? 

I must keep an eye on you. 

(To FooDLE.) ; 



The Ranch Girl. 27 

Now Foodie, you know it might happen, 

When you were away from here, 

Or something of that sort, you know — 
FooDLE. But I ain't a-goin' away. 
Winnie. No, of course not. Foodie, of course. 

But something or other might happen; 

And I might need to know 

Just how to get to that house. 
FooDLE. That house where the young chaps is ? 
Winnie. Yes, that. 
FooDLE. (Aside.) She's afeard o' me, oh, yes. 

And I is afeard o' the young chaps. 

(To Winnie.) 

So you wants to know how to reach 'em? 
AVinnie. If something should happen, you see. 
FooDLE. Oh, yes, if somethin' should happen. 
Winnie. You can tell me, of course. 
FooDLE. Oh, yes ; 

You first goes down to the creek; 

And then you goes on across it. 

But before that you follers a path ; 

And you's got to be mighty careful 

Not to foller the other path there. 
Winnie. (Taking out her note hook and writ- 
ing.) 

Quite a number of other paths there? 
FooDLE. Why, of course, there be ; for you see 

This land is a free one for sheep; 

And wherever one sheep goes a-bleatin' 

A thousand goes follerin' after. 

And most of them goes single-file — 

Well, after you crosses the creek, 

You foller another path up ; 

And when you gets half-way through it. 

You turn — 
Winnie. But how can one tell 

When half-way through it? 
FooDLE. You comes 

To the place where you turn. 
Winnie. Oh, the whole — 

The whole path turns there. 
FooDLE. No — 

The path to where the young chaps is. 
Winnie. Does it turn to the right or the left? 
FooDLE. There ain't but one way to turn 

When you gets to the right place. Then, 

When you pegs on a half-mile further, 



28 The Ra7ich GirL 

You goes to the top of a hill, 

Then a little way down toward a valley; 

And then you comes to a tree. 
Winnie. The only tree in the valley? 
FooDLE. Oh, no; why, it's full o' trees. 

It's the tree that you tells the path by. 

(Winnie shakes her head disparingly.) 

And when you's once in the path, 

You goes on till you comes to a sheep-pen. 
Winnie. And how far is the sheep-pen? 
FooDLE. From here? 

Winnie. Yes, from here. 
FooDLE. Oh, three or four mile. 

Winnie. Not more than half of the way? 

Why, Foodie, I never could find 

The whole way. 
FooDLE. You couldn't? You couldn't? 

(Pointing to Winnie's note book.) 

Not even by chalking it down? 
Winnie. And then, I might be obliged 

To go there, too, in the night. 
FooDLE. (With shrewd sham-sympathy.) 

And you couldn't do that now, could you? 

Oh, no ; I's a-feard you couldn't ! 

(Sounds of disputing voices heard outside.) 
Winnie. (In alarm.) 

Why, what can all that be about? 

Go and see, please ; and come and tell me. 
Exit — Right Second — Foodle. 

(Winnie fills in the time by rushing to the win- 
dow, backing at Right Center, and stretching 
out, and, apparently, studying what she sees.) 

Are they trying to kill that man? — 

As I live ! — it can't be — it is 

That young Mr. Merriman, yes. 

That I met at the railway station. 

But where in the world did he come from? 

And how he is fighting them !— Why— 

That rope! — Are they trying to tie him? 
Enter — Right Second — Foodle. 

(To Foodle.) 

And what is it, Foodle, quick! 
Foodle. They are only havin' some fun. 
Winnie. Some fun?— What kind of fun? 
Foodle. Why stringin' a feller up. 
Winnie. Stringing up?— What is that? 



The Ranch Girl, 29 

FooDLE. What you folks 

Call hangin'. 
Winnie. What? — murder, you mean? 
FooDLE. But it's allers done out here. 
Winnie. (^In great alarm.) 

Done always? 
FooDLE. To them kind o' fellers, 

Of course. 
Winnie. To what kind of fellows? 

FooDLE. The kind as they allers hangs. 
Winnie. To what kind? — What has he done? 
FooDLE. You seem to be gettin' impatient. 

(Winnie moves toward Right Second Entrance 
as if to go to the men.) 

If you goes out there, they'll hang 'im 

As soon as they sees yer a-comin'. 
Winnie. Oh, dear, they will have him hung 

Before my eyes ; and nothing 

That I can do can prevent it ! 

{To FoODLE.) 

Unless you answer me plainly, 

I will have my brother discharge you. 
FooDLE. Why don't you know what fellers 

They allers hangs, out here? 
Winnie. Of course, I don't. Now tell me. 
FooDLE. Why, the fellers as steals our bosses; 

And when they is catched in the act — 
Winnie. This man has been stealing no horses. 

You mistake. I know him myself. 
FooDLE. Oh, so ! You know him, do you ? 

And it's one o' them northern chaps 

From the house you was talkin' about. 
Winnie. {To herself.) 

This man will drive me insane ! 

There must be some sort of feud 

Between that ranch and this. 

{To Foodle.) 

No, no ; he is not one of them. 

Go tell the men that I know him; 

And I know he is not a horse-thief. 
FooDLE. What, tell 'em their own eyes lied? — 

They would tell you as your'n had lied. 

{Aside.) 

That's the chap I's to keep my eyes on. 
Winnie. {Aside.) 

Can he be jealous, I wonder? 



30 The Ranch Girl. 

If they think, whatever I say, 

I am lying, to save him, I will lie. 

{To FOODLE.) 

You misunderstood me, Foodie. 

I did not mean that I knew him. 

But my brother knows him, Foodie. 

He spoke to him at the junction. 

And I know he is not a thief, 

Because he is rich, very rich. 

And, Foodie, you tell the boys 

That if they let him off, at least, 

My brother and I will not. 

Till all of them have been given 

A mint of his money. Foodie. 
FooDLE. Oh, ho ! It is that you wanted ! 

I see. It might make a bargain ; 

And your brother's knowin' 'im so ! 
Exit — Right Center — Foodle. 
Winnie. {To herself.) 

Where we all are creatures of dust, 

Thank God for gold-dust. Its gleam 

Can sometimes hypnotize brains 

As plain, clear thought never could. 

Hang him? {She Ulls in the time by trying to 
look through the window hacking at Right 
Center. Then rushes toward the drawer in 
the table, backing at Left Center.) 
Here's the key! 

{Taking the key from her pocket she opens the 
drazver, takes out the pistols and examines 
them.) 

All loaded! 

Twelve shots, and only nine men. 

{Puts the belt containing the pistols around 
her, but under her apron, so that it can not 
be seen.) 

Let them dare to attempt to hang him! 
Enter — Right Second — Foodle. 

{She continues to Foodle.) 

Well, what do they say? 
Foodle. They would like 

To accommodate you, but the trouble 

Just now is about his shearin'. 
Winnie. His shearing? 
Foodle. Oh, you would say stripping 

He's got on a good coat o' wool. 



The Ranch Girl. 31 

Winnie. You mean that he wears good clothes — 

Is a dude — of course. 
FooDLE. Of course ; 

And the boys hates dudes. Besides, 

Old Muggins, as cotched that hoss, 

Is as dead-set on sportin' them clothes, 

As a sixteen-year-old gal 

On sweepin' the dust with her tail. 

And it's allers the rule out here 

That the man, as catches a thief, 

Is boss of his hide, you know. 
Winnie. Very well, if he wants the man's 
clothes. 

Why not let him have them? 
FooDLE. Why not? — 

Why what would a dude be good for, 

As handn't no clothes? 
Winnie. (Laughing.) I see. 

We might give him others, you know. 
FooDLE. Not much. There's none on the ranch. 
Winnie. (Going to door at Left Second En- 

trance, but finding it locked.) 

But, my brother — Oh, dear ; it is locked ! 
FooDLE. There ain't nothin' for him in there. 

You disremember, I guess 

The time we went off to the station. 

We took all the clothes on the ranch 

To the tailor, as comes there to fix things. 
Winnie. You took them all to the tailor? 
FooDLE. We took every rag. 
Winnie. Then all. 

This man can change with Muggins. 
Foodle. With Muggins? — He wants the dude's 
clothes 

To work in, you think? Not he! 

You see you can't blame the boys. 

They're used to this kind o' sport. 

And all of 'em knows that the best 

Of a bundle like this is the wrappiu\ 

And when they've got that, all that's left 

Is the string, and where there's a string, 

They're spilin' to hang somethin' with it — 
Winnie. You must not talk that way. Foodie. 
FooDLE. Well / should like to know how. 

With you on the ranch and the boys, 

I's a-goin' to keep things decent, 

When Muggins has got all his clothes, 



32 The Ranch Girl, 

And the man is not under ground? 
Winnie. (Throzi'ing herself into a chair and 

laughing.) 

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! 
FooDLE. (To himself, as he looks at her.) 

Well, now, that gal's a-gone off! 

My old boss's wife used to have 'em. 
He called 'em the histrionics. 

But she never went off very far. 

Too bad, but she never quite died ! 
Winnie. Oh, I've the most comical notion ! — 

To think of it, makes me ache. 

The thing that we want here, Foodie, 

The thing that we want, is a girl, 

A girl to do housekeeping for us. 

Suppose that we make one of him — 

First, empty his clothes for Muggins ; 

And then squeeze himself, you know. 

Inside of that queer old rig 

That the last girl left here. — You wait. — 

I will go and get it. 
Exit — Left Upper — Winnie. 
FooDLE. Ho, ho ! 

The boys '11 catch on to that ! 

The devil himself would save 

A man he could still keep a-fryin'. 

Their kickin' show'll be a sight better 

With the dude in a petticoat! Ha! 
Enter — Left Upper — Winnie with a bundle of 

clothes. 
Winnie. Here, Foodie, you take these out, 

And tell me, at once, what they do. 

(She pushes him tozvard Right Second En- 
trance.) 
Exit — Right Second — Foodle. 
Winnie. (Filling in time by gazing out of the 

window at Right Center.) 

No. no; they are out of sight. 

But, perhaps, it is just as well! 

(Turning away from the zvindow, taking a 
pistol from her belt and examining it, then 
turning to zvindozu again.) 

I ought to have seen them myself. 

The men who oppose a man 

Will sometimes yield to a woman. 

The toughest of them can be wounded, 

Like crocodiles, through the eye. 



The Ra7ich GirL 33 

This gives almost any young woman 
A chance, where a man would fail. 
If Foodie fails, I will try them. 

Enter — Right Second — Foodle. 
Well, Foodie. 

FooDLE. All right. 

Winnie. You are sure? 

FooDLE. That didn't need no explanation — 
Caught on right off! They will change him. 
Coin' back to look at the fun. 

Winnie. When his skirts are on him, Foodie, 
You bring him in here to me. 
And, Foodie, you make him believe 
That I think him a girl, — and, Foodie, 
You would better not call me Miss Lorn ; 
And you tell the boys not to do it. 
By my face, the man does not know me. 
But he might by my name, and the more 
He thinks we are strangers, the more 
Real sport he can give us. 

Foodle. Yes, yes. 

Exit — Right Second — Foodle. 

Winnie. (Filling in time by rushing toward the 
window at Right Center, then modestly hesi- 
tating, shrugging her shoulders, shaking her 
head, and turning to examine herself in the 
mirror. ) 

I hardly believe he will know me. 
That day I was wearing my veil ; 
And my voice, I think, was hoarse. 
He has probably lost his way; 
And, of course, would not know our ranch; 
Would scarcely learn of it here. 
And yet he might. If he do — 
(Shrugs her shoulders.) 

Enter — Right Second — Foodle. followed by 
Harry in a maid's dress too small for him, 
reaching not quite to the ankles. The Ranch- 
men crowd behind making fun of him. 

Foodle. If you please, Miss, here's the new maid. 

Winnie. Well, well, as we needed a woman, 
I suppose we can let her live. 
(Addressing Harry, but evidently trying to im- 

press the Ranchmen.) 
But I want you to understand 
That I am the mistress here. 



34 The Ranch Girl, 

{She lifts her apron, and reveals the pistols, 
at which Ranchmen appear surprised. Win- 
nie continues aside.) 

Astonishing how much courage 
The presence of this man gives me ! 

{Takes a pistol in her hand, and waves it about, 
saying to the Ranchmen, as she gestures to- 
ward Right Second Entrance.) 

Now, boys, you have had your fun. 
It is time to return to your work. 
And, Foodie, you may go with them. 
But be sure to wait close at hand, 
And be ready to come, if I call. 

{Both the Ranchmen and Foodle seem to de- 
mur at this; hut after a little Exeunt — Right 
Second — Ranchmen, follozved slowly and 
reluctantly by Foodle.) 

Harry. {Who has been regarding her carefully, 

and evidently suspects who she is, to himself.) 

I wish I had had those pistols; 

Or had not left mine behind me. — 

But no ; I should not have been here. 

{To Winnie.) 

I have heard of arms before 

Round a woman's waist; but, bless me, 

If ever I dreamed — 
Winnie. Be silent. 

I have saved your life — have a right 

To 3^our gratitude. 
Harry. Have you ? Boo hoo ! 

{Shivering.) 

Winnie. {In solicitude.) 

You are shivering then? Are you cold? 
Harry. {Looking at his exposed arms and 

ankles.) 

Am not used to being exposed — 

Am bashful. It makes me tremble. 
Winnie. When the child of our brain gives us 
trouble. 

We must send him out into service. 

{Puts a large washpan on the table, at center 
of stage, and puts soiled dishes in it.) 



The Ranch Girl. 35, 

Harry. You mean if people be lazy 

They forget themselves the most, 

When they seem surrounded by work. 
Winnie. (Pointing to the washpan and the 
dishes. ) 

Here, now, you can clean these dishes. 

I suppose you are used to it, eh? 
Harry. Oh, yes ; whenever I eat, 

I always clean the dishes. 
Winnie. Well, go then, and get the water. 

{Points to pail uith water and dipper near the 
place of Left Third Entrance. Harry be- 
gins to zvalk rapidly to and fro, carrying wa- 
ter in the dipper from the pail to the dish.) 

Winnie. (Laughing, as she watches him.) 
Do you think that I want you to train 
For a walking-match? — 

Harry. Why — 

Winnie. Then why — 

Not bring the whole pail at once? 

Harry. What then is the need of the dipper? 

(He rushes for the pail, brings it to the front 
of the table and sets it on the floor so violent- 
ly that it splashes over.) 

Winnie. See how you have spilled it; look! 

(Harry lifts the pail to pour from it into the 
pan.) 

Not that way. See how it drips. 

You must use the dipper now. 
Harry. (P\itting down the pail, and taking the 
dipper, and flourishing it.) 

A sort of Indian club 

For the arms — but not for the legs. 
Winnie. And not for a sprinkler, either! — 

You take it for holy water. 

And this for a church? 
Harry. (Bowing down, as he puts the dipper in 

the pail.) 

Why not?— 

My service is just beginning. 

(He lifts the dipper, pouring the water into the- 
pan that is on the table.) 

Winnie. Wait, wait !— It will all be cold. 
You must get the hot water now 



36 The Ranch Girl, 

From the kettle there. 

{Pointing tozvard the stove. Harry rushes to 
it, and takes the kettle by its handle, then 
drops it, and dances about blowing his 
fingers. ) 

Come, come ! 

No place for dancing here ! 

But for serious work. 
Harry. Yes, yes. 

I should think so — seared my fingers. 

They are looking like autumn leaves. 
Winnie. Oh, burned your fingers, have you? — 

You ought to have used the holder. 

{Handing him the holder from the table near 
the place of Left Second Entrance.) 

Harry. Ah, that way ! Yes, I see. 
So, so; that is easy enough. 

{He takes the tea-kettle to the table, and pours 
the hot water into the zvash-pan, but awk^ 
wardly, letting the kettle swing round and 
burn the hand that is holding it.) 

Winnie. It is? 

Harry. No, no ! it is fearful ! 

{Suddenly placing the kettle oti the white table 
cloth, and bunting it.) 

Winnie. {Snatching up the kettle without using 
the holder, and pointing to the table-cloth.) 
You are right. I should think it was ! — 
You have ruined it now forever. 
{She pours the water from the kettle into the 
wash-pan. While she is doing this, Harry 
notices that he still holds the holder. He 
offers it to her. She shakes her head refus- 
ing it, then feels the water in the wash-pan.) 
Just warm enough, I think ! 
{She replaces the kettle on the stove.) 
Harry. {Looking at the holder in his hand, then 
at her; then cautiously feeling the water in the 
wash- pan, and suddenly drawing his hand 
hack.) 

Are you a salamander? 
Winnie. {Looking- around from the stove, shak- 
ing her head and laughing. ) 



The Ranch Girl, 37 

No; you are a goosy-gander. 
Enter — Right Second — Foodle. 
FooDLE. Some strangers out here, Miss Lorn. 

They says as they wants to see you. 
Exeunt — Right Second — Winnie and Foodle. 
Harry. {To himself.) 

Ah, that was a Miss that I 

Did not miss. Humph, humph ! — I seem 

{Several times, as if experimenting puts hand 
in znater and draws it out suddenly.) 

To be getting into hot-water. 

Our game of hide and seek 

May turn to a game of tag. 
Enter — Right Second — Winnie followed by 

Singers and Foodle. 
Exit — Left Upper — Foodle. 
Winnie. I have found a traveling band 

Of singers outside. They are going 

To give me a song for their dinner. 

SINGERS sing: 

Chorus : 

Ah, boys, when we fill our glasses. 
We may drink to whatever else passes, 
But whenever we quaff to life's better half, 
We must always drink to the lasses. 

(During the chorus, and the following inter- 
lude, Harry begins to dance. The Singers 
call one another's attention to him, almost 
recognize him to be a man; and start out to 
join in his fun by dancing with him.) 

Singer. You may journey to Nice or to Paris 

For a cough that a song may embarrass ; 

But the air of the West is the freshest and 
best ; 

And the sweetest, the air of its heiress. 
Chorus : The sweetest the air of its heiress ; 

Ah, boys, when we fill our glases, etc. 

{While dancing, Harry slaps one of the 
Singers on the shoulder, or puts his arm 
around him. The Singer sings the next 
stanza. 

Singer. There was a lone man on a May-day, 
He came to the wilds of a hey-day ; 
But when he got there, instead of a bear, 



^8 The Ranch Girl, 

He found himself hugged by a la-dy. 
Chorus : He found himself hugged by a la-dy. 
Ah, boys, when we fill our glasses, etc. 

Harry. There was a young man that I know, 
Who cried for a "Westward Ho." 
Because his yeast he had left in the east, 
And he wanted a po-ta-to. 

■Chorus : He wanted a po-ta-to. 

Ah, boys, when we fill our glasses, etc. 

{Other verses suited to the times may he in- 
troduced,) 

-Enter — Left Upper — Foodle. 

-FooDLE. (To Winnie.) They can wash up 
now, if they wants to. 

{Winnie leads the Singers to the door at Left 
Upper Entrance. Harry takes the hand- 
towel hanging near the Left Upper Entrance, 
and, shrinking from the heat of the water, 
draws a plate from the wash- pan, rubs the 
plate, looks at it, and makes motions of writ- 
ing on it with his finger.) 

Exit — Right Second — Foodle. 

Exeunt — Left Upper — The Singers. 

Winnie. {Coming toward Harry.) And what 

is the matter now? 
Harry. I was thinking about this plate. 

One thinks when he writes, does he not? 
Winnie. Some write because their thoughts 

Are running out of their brain. 
Harry. {Shozving her the grease-lines on the 
plate.) 

But look — It is very strange ! 
'Winnie. Oh, no ; it is very common ! 
Harry. — In a climate like this, I suppose, 

So many things sweat. — 
Winnie. Better say 

There are so many things that are lazy. 

{Pointing to plate.) 

It has not been half rubbed yet. 
Harry. {Looking incredulous, then feeling the 

muscles of his arm.) 

Well, I would rather — 
Winnie. Be hung? — 

Why, what is this that you have? — 

The hand-towel, as I live ! 



The Raiich GirL 39 

{Taking from him the towel that he has been 
using, then giving it back to him and point- 
ing to a slop-pail on the floor.) 

Come here wring it out over this. 

(Harry tries awkwardly to zvring it.) 

You awkward! Wring it in this way. 

{She wrings it, and hands it back to him.) 
Harry. {Trying to imitate her, but not succeed- 
ing.) 

In this way, you say? 
Winnie. Tut, tut! 

I shall have to do it myself. 

Meantime, you can help get ready 

The rice for dinner. 

{She takes the towel from him, and hanging it 
where it hung before, points to the dish con- 
taining rice zvhich is on the shelf near the 
place of the Right Third Entrance.) 

Harry. How much? 

Winnie. {Crossing to the other side of the 
room and arranging something.) 
Enough for a dinner for six. 
Harry. Humph, humph ! At last I have some- 
thing 
I know how to do. Let me see — 
They have few things else to feed on. 
Suppose I give each a bowl-full. 

{Looks at the rice as if he thought there were 
very little of it; then pours it all into an 
empty can and pours water over it.) 

Winnie. {Returning and looking into the pan in 

zvhich he has put the rice.) 

Why, what in the world are you doing? 
Harry. Getting ready the rice. 
Winnie. You think 

We feed all the cattle on rice? 
Harry. Why should I? 
Winnie. You think you must boil 

All that for only six people? 
Harry. Yes, nevertheless. 
Winnie. If you 

Were better acquainted with rice. 

You would know how much it could swell. 
Harry. Could swell? — I thought that rice 

Was very simple in taste. 

I never dreamed of finding 

A swell in it — How could I? 



40 The Ra7ich Girl, 

(Winnie puts a pan on another chair, which 
she draws near the chair on zvhich is the pan 
ailed with rice and water. Then she goes to 
the closet near the place of Left Third En- 
trance and takes from it a seive-ladle. While 
she is doing this, Harry begins with his 
hands scooping the rice out of one pan and 
into the other, all the while spilling water on 
the floor.) 

Winnie. {Returning with the seive, and look- 
ing at the wet floor.) 
If I am a salamander, 
I take it that you are a fish. 
You expect me to wade like a crane? 
Take this here, and scrub the floor. 

{She flings onto the floor the towel near the 
Left Upper Entrance. Harry looks at the 
tozvel dubiously. She Idughs.) 

I must teach you housekeeping now. 

Get down on your knees. 
Harry. Is that 

The way to begin it? 
Winnie. {Laughing.) Yes. 
Harry. {Getting on his knees and looking 

mockingly at her.) 

I had heard so; and what do you say? 
Winnie. Impertinent ! — Have a care ! 
Enter — Right Second — Foodle. 

{Sounds of disputing voices are heard.) 

Harry. {Rising.) 

I have — but I think for you. 
Enter — Right Second — Foodle. 
FooDLE. Them boys is all comin' here. Miss ; 

And they swear they will get at the liquor. 
Winnie. But, Foodle, they must be stopped. 
Foodle. That is easier said than done. 
Harry. What is it? 
Winnie. {To Harry.) 

He says that the boys 

Are coming to get at the whiskey. 

And my brother, when going away, 

Said that this was the one chief thing 

That we must prevent their doing. 
Harry. {Aside.) 

Her brother ! — I see — Her brother ! 



The Ranch Girl. 41 

(To Winnie.) 

And where do you keep the whiskey? 
Winnie. (Pointing to the closet near Left Cen- 
ter.) 

In there, and the keys in my pocket. 

(She shows the keys.) 
Harry. You keep them, and give me the pistols. 

(He takes the two pistols from her belt.) 

If I had had these before, 

Old Muggins might never have caught me. 

(Turning to one side, cocking the pistols, and 
speaking to himself.) 

Nor I, perhaps, have caught her. 
Winnie. (Evidently alarmed.) 

Be careful. They might go off. 
Harry. Afraid of them, eh? — then your fright 

For me must have been very great, 

When you put them on ! — I thank you. 

(To himself, at one side, as he examines the 
pistols.) 

Let them break up our tete-a-tete here, 

I never could hit a barn door; 

But I guess, by the time we get through. 

We shall scatter a lot of darn bores ! 
Enter — Right Second — Ranchmen, crowding in 

rather sheepishly, as if fearing consequences. 

Harry addresses them. 

Well, men, and what do you want? 
Leader of the Men. We are comin' here after 

some grog. 
Harry. And if you return to your quarters, 

Perhaps you will get it, — that is 

If the lady in charge here will give it. 
Leader. Oh, ho ! Well, you ain't no lady. 

(Makes motions as if to go toward the closet 
at Left Center in front of which stands Win- 
nie.) 
Harry. I am not, but she is ; and if you 
Take one step further, I shoot. 

(He points both pistols at the men. At the 
same moment 
Enter — Left Upper — The Singers. 

(Seeing zvhat is going on, they pull out pistols 
and point them at the Ranchmen.) 

CURTAIN. 



42 The Ranch GirL 



ACT THIRD. 

Scene: The same as in Act Second. 

The curtain rising discloses Harry dressed as 
in Act II J in a woman s gown. 

Harry. (To himself, while arranging certain of 
the dishes.) 

Were I not engaged to Betsy, 
I should say I was falling in love. 
But this, of course, can not be. 
Any more than if I were married. 

(Looking in mirror near place of Left Third 
Entrance.) 

The one thing no man can do, 

Is to outstrip a woman in dressing. 

Not so anxious, perhaps, to be 

An angel, and put on airs, 

When these drafts that we feel on earth 

Have drafted us up to heaven. 

No wonder, the women surpass us 

In not getting hard or tipsy. 

Truth is they are tough by nature, 

And get tight in ways and stays — 

I wonder if squeezing the blood 

Keeps it warm. That might explain 

Why their arms and necks do not freeze. 

(Putting his hand to his waist and breast, then 
trying to bring the tzuo sides of his dress at 
the ivaist together.) 

No, no; it is not becoming. 

It never wmII be coming. 

But some one else is, I guess. 

(Looking toward Left Upper Entrance, and 
making an aivkivard pose before the mirror.) 

No wonder she always meets me 
With a smiling face ! The mirror 
Is always doing the same. 
Enter — Left Upper — Winnie, zvho crosses the 
stage to the windozu at Right Center. 



The Ranch GirL 43 

Winnie. Out here v/e can see the sheep 

Coming home — a beautiful sight ! 

{Pointing out the windozv.) 

At first you notice they look 

Like a low, stone fence on the top 

Of the distant hill ; and then 

Flock on till the whole of the hill 

Is gray as a ledge of marble ; 

But when nearer they look like a wedge. 

Last night I rode out on a donkey; 

And, when I had met them and turned, 

They all ran sweeping behind me, 

Like the white and spreading train 

Of a long trailed wedding dress. 
Harry. It is not the first time, my lady, 

That a donkey's bridle has led 

A wedding train on toward a halter. 
Winnie. {Laughing.) 

No, no; nor the last, I take it. 

{She seats herself in a chair. Harry takes a 
chair and seats himself in front of her, hold- 
ing out his hand.) 

Harry. But, Miss Lorn, you never went on 

To finish telling my fortune. 

I want to know whether I ever 

Shall clear my skirts of the charge 

That your men — 
Winnie. They are heavy then? 

Harry. What ? 

Winnie. The skirts. 
Harry. Oh, no ! they are more 

Like the charge of a light brigade. 

{Gesturing toward his legs, breast and arms, 
and rising and walking about.) 

I feel like a turkey-gobbler 

Hung up in front of a shop. 

With neck and wings and legs 

All plucked, and what feathers are left. 

Bunched up in a tuft at the middle. 

It is all like a goblin-dream — 

A dream in a German hotel, 

With an eiderdown-hub, when one's arms 

And legs, raying out toward the frost, 

Are kept warm by fervor of speech, 



44 The Ranch GirL 

And a wish to get at that German ! — 

Yet he did not lie by naming 

His spread a comfortable ! 
Winnie. From what I had heard you say, 

I had guessed that you liked to seem 

Ridiculous. 
Harry. So I do. 

I am so sincere. 
Winnie. So what? 

Harry. Why, what I said — sincere. 

The ridiculous is the incongruous. 

In society, as we all know, 

Sincerity is the incongrous. 

You have only to be sincere. 

You will seem ridiculous too. 
Winnie. So easy for you as that? 
Harry. Look and see. — The style is the man. 

I have only to be sincere ; 

And if a Methodist parson 

Came here on a Sunday, and saw me, 

He would laugh on his sacred day 

In spite of all of his praying. 

I fail myself to see how 

Women manage to be — say — graceful, 

When their vests pull down so far. 

(Taking hold of his skirts in front.) 
Winnie. Oh, it comes. 
Harry. (Taking up a plate, and imitating a 

zvaiter. ) 

Yes, as '^everything comes 

For him who waits'^ I suppose. 

When my blushes have heated me through, 

I shall take on grace, perhaps. 

As a bag-pudding takes on a crust. 
Winnie. (Laughing.) 

Why, girls more awkard than you 

Are made graceful. 
Harry. They are? — By dancing? 

(Making awkward dancing movements.) 
Winnie. Yes, that and Delsarte. 

Harry. Delsarte ? 
Winnie. Yes ; moving the hands 

And body and arms, so and so. 

(Music of the orchestra, while Winnie makes 
Delsarte gymnastic movements, while Harry 
tries awkwardly to imitate her.) 



The Ranch GirL 45 

Enter — Right Second — Foodle and the Singers. 
Exit — Right Second — Foodle. 
First Singer. {To Winnie.) 

We find we must be going, 

And have come, once more to thank you. 
Winnie. You have paid for it fully, you know. 

But if you think not, suppose 

You give us one more song 

(Singers sing some popular song and chorus.) 
Winnie. {Clapping her hands.) Thanks. 
First Singer. {Shaking hands with Winnie 

and Harry.) Good-bye. 
Other Singers. {Doing the same.) Good-bye. 
Winnie. {To Singers.) I hope we shall all 

meet again. 
Exeunt — Right Second — Singers. 
Enter — Right Second — Foodle. 
Foodle. Oh, Miss; it is raining just like 

A thousand o' bricks — not here 

But upon yon hill ; and a man 

And a couple o' women is comin' 

A-drivin' a-down the hill. 

Like a boulder rolled by a cyclone — 

Will be here in just a minute; 

And all wet through to the skin. 
Winnie. Go see to their horses, Foodle; 

And bring them in here, of course. 
Exit — Right Second — Foodle. 
Harry. {In trepidation.) 

Now, tell me, what shall I do? 
Winnie. Behave yourself — like a woman. 
Harry. It w^as all well enough with the singers ; 

They were strangers, but these that are coming 

Are probably neighbors; and you — 

Will it do for you to be found 

With me here dressed like this? 
Winnie. You need not expose yourself. 
Harry. {Looking at his arms and neck.) 

Could I be exposed much more? 
Winnie. {Laughing.) 

They never would find you out. 

But wait, I will get you a wig — 

{Moving toward Left Upper Entrance.) 

Belonged to a comedy outfit; 

Been wondering why I brought it. 
Harry. Thought of Indian scalpers, perhaps; 



46 The Ranch Girl. 

And imagined that you might need it. 
Exit — Left Upper — Winnie. 

I only hope it will fit me. 

But what if it do, or do not? 

These women are coming here ; 

And if they be all wet through, 

The very first order they give 

To a servant girl like me 

Will be to change their clothes; 

And likely enough, besides, 

They will order my own clothes ofif. 
Enter — Left Upper — Winnie bringing wig. 
Winnie. (Putting the wig on Harry, and point- 
ing toward mirror.) 

They never would know you now. 
Harry. (Adjusting the wig.) 

I never should know myself. 

(Speaking falsetto.) 

Shall I speak to them high like this? 
Winnie. ( Laughing. ) 

Oh, nonsense ! You might, you know. 

Forget, and drop your voice. 
Harry. And so reveal the baseness 

Of the lower range for which 

Alone such as I am fitted. 

(Placing his hand on his breast.) 

My female aspirations. 

Or, say, my respirations. 

Must not forget they are stayed; 

And so must needs preserve 

The even tenor — 
Enter — Right Second — Foodle, leaving door be- 
hind him open. Confusion ! 

It is Betsy, Alice and Gall. 
Foodle. (To the party outside the door.) 

Just tumble along in. Misses ; 

This tub of ourn, as I reckon. 

Can hold you, water and all. 
Enter — Right Second — Betsy, Alice and Gall. 

Foodle goes on to Gall. 

And you, if you wants to strip. 

Just peal off there in the yard. 
Exit — Right Second — Foodle. 

(Betsy, Alice and Gall move tozvard the 
stove.) 



The Ra7ich Girl, 47 

Betsy. {Gesturing toward Foodle.) 

An exceeding vulgar creature ! — 

A very low set, here, I guess. 
Alice. {Looking toward Winnie and Harry.) 

Sh — sh ! — They might overhear you. 
Betsy. {Sarcastically and petulantly.) 

They might ?^and what if they did? 

(Winnie and Harry place chairs about the 
stove.) 
Winnie. Take seats? 
Harry. And dry yourselves. 

Betsy. {Looking sharply at Harry, then seat- 
ing herself and speaking to Alice zvho seats 

herself in the chair held by Winnie.) 

No wonder they send out here 

For monstrosities for our museums ! 
Alice. Sh — sh ! — 
Betsy. Why, what did I say? 

I was talking, you know, about cattle. 
Harry. {To himself, while crossing to rear of 

the table at center of the stage, where he busies 

himself zmth crockery and listens.) 

I am not to be flattered by her; 

But, at least, can flatter myself 

That my true self has not been revealed. 
Gall. {Aside.) 

As Lorn is not here to-day. 

My surprise, prepared for Alice, 

Might just as well be postponed. 

{To Alice and Betsy.) 

The storm is over, I see, 

Would we better be riding on? 

Our climate is dryer than yours. 

You will not take cold, I guess. 
Betsy. Men's guesses are like their gifts. 

I have found they are often bait 

On a hook and line thrown out 

To draw inward toward themselves. 

I suppose you want to go on. 
Gall. Well, Betsy, and what if I do? 
Betsy. You have lived here so long, I presume, 

You are dry and crusty enough 

To escape being all soaked through 

By a week of floods. But for me — 
Alice. Oh, Betsy, but now, you know — 
Betsy. It turned out, precisely the way 



48 The Ranch Girl, 

That I said that it would, this morning. 

The clouds were gathering then. 

And yet you both would come. 
Alice. You wanted to see the cascade 

Far more than / did, Betsy. 
Betsy. Oh, yes, of course, of course! 

I am always the one to blame. 
Gall. If you prefer, we will stay. 
Exit — Right Second — Gall, bozcing first to Win- 
nie and Alice. 
Winnie. If you will excuse me, ladies, 

I will look in one of my trunks 

And find, if I can, a change 

Of clothing for you. 
Exit — Left Upper — Winnie. 
Harry. {To himself.) Good grief! 

And when the clothing arrives. 

I fear I may blush to see it. 
Alice. {To Betsy, as she looks around the 

room.) 

What a cozy, snug little place? 
Betsy. A cozy and snug ! I should think so. 

It smells just like a hired girl's room. 
Harry. {Aside.) 

She is on the scent for me now. 
Alice. {To Betsy.) 

Why will you always be thinking 

Of such unsavory things? 
Harry. {To himself.) 

Is she always thinking of me? 
Betsy. Dear me ! 
Harry. {To himself.) 

I see it. She is. 
Betsy. {To Alice.) 

Dear me! Humph! "Why will you always?" — 

A characteristic question. 
Alice. Why, Betsy, I beg your pardon — 

You know I meant no offense. 
Betsy. The mean are mean without meaning. 

You might talk, at least, ten minutes 

Without insulting some one. 
Harry. {To himself.) 

Oho! — Rather sharp, Miss Betsy! — 

If one had a phonograph now 

To catch and shoot back your words, 

The insult might not come from Alice. 



The Ranch Girl, 49 

Alice. {To Betsy.) 

But, Betsy, I merely thought 

The suggestion was not the most pleasant. 
Betsy. Blame the room that suggested it then; 

But, likely enough, not to you. 

I was not brought up as you were. 
Alice. Our house was smaller than yours ; 

But my mother, I think, was a lady. 
Betsy. (Sarcastically.) 

And mine, I suppose, was not ! 

At least, I was taught to be clean. 
Alice. You could hardly expect things here 

To be just as they are in New York. 

We came because they were not so. 
Betsy. Oh, yes, my fault, always mine ! 

Heaven knows I will not come again. 
Alice. What, what? — not if Harry came with 

you? 
Harry. (Who has evidently been getting more 

and more provoked, to himself.) 

The Old Harry may always come with her. 
Betsy. You think, I suppose I am just 

As silly as you — 
Alice. I should scarcely 

Say being in love was silly. 
Betsy. You are perfectly well aware 

That if I am anything, Alice, 

I am sensible — practical, too. 
Alice. And I — did I hint you were not? 
Betsy. You implied it, at least ; and you know 

That Harry is rich, very rich ; 

And easily managed, besides ; 

And so, a sensible match — 
Harry. (To himself.) 

That presently may strike fire. 

I begin to feel like a boy 

Who is going to school to be licked. 

Is. that the way our brides kiss us? 

(Makes a movement with his tongue.) 
Alice. Of course it is ; and I said so — 

That you were in love with him. 
Betsy. Humph ! 

But that is a different thing. 
Harry. (To himself.) 

What my old school-marm used to say, 

When trying to make me spell. 



50 The Ranch Ghl. 

Alice. {To Betsy.) 

But he is in love with you. 
Betsy. That too is a different thing. 
Harry. {To himself.) 

Oh, my! — but this school-marm here 

Seems trying to break me spell. 
Alice. {To Betsy.) 

He thinks you in love with him too. 
Betsy. {To Alice.) 

And what if he does think that? 

Give a woman a pair of eyes 

And bring almost any man near her, 

He will see his image inside them, 

An image exceedingly small, 

An image, too, upside down. 

But a man never saw any image 

Inside those eyes but his own. 
Harry. {To himself.) 

The devil ! — could see his own there. 
Alice. {To Betsy.) 

It is well for you. Miss Betsy, 

That Harry did not hear that. 
Harry. {To himself.) 

And well for him that he did. 
Betsy. And what if he did? I tell you 

One beck with my little finger, 

And Harry would kneel here — 
Harry. {Whistling.) Whew! 

Betsy. Did you hear that woman whistle ?- 

The most disagreeable thing! 

Such eyes, and mouth, and nose. — 

And such a voice, too, ugh, ugh ! 

One would fancy her born and cradled 

Out here on a ranch, and forever 

Asleep on it, catching cold. 

And every night growing hoarser 

By snoring. 
Alice. Sh — sh ! — Why she 

Can hear you ; and you — you might hurt 

Her feelings. 
Betsy. {Laughing sarcastically.) 

Then why should she listen? 
Harry. {To himself.) 

To have rare dreams of the future. 

I fancy that now I am wedded, 

And dressed even less than I am, 



The Ranch GirL 51 

Attending my evening lecture. 
Alice. {To Betsy.) 

But you and I are to stay here; 

And she might not wait on us. 
Betsy. Oh ! 

How much you do know about servants ! — 

Will show^ you. — {To Harry.) — Here, girl,, 
come here 

And help me off with my gown. 

I will pay you for it, you know. 

(Betsy rises. Harry looks at her without 
moving. She continues to Alice.) 

Did you ever see mortal so stupid? 
Alice. Perhaps she is deaf. I hope so; 
And so has not overheard. 

(Harry turns to Left Upper Entrance and tries 
the door.) 

Betsy. Instead of coming to us, 

She seems to be going away. 
Harry. {To himself.) 

Door locked ! I suppose she is making 

Some change of her own. 
Betsy. {Speaking loud, as if to a deaf person.) 
Come here ! — 

Do you understand me ? Come here ! — 

Come here, and unhook my gown. 

Harry. {To himself, as he turns and feels in the 
drawer under the closed closet backing at Left 
Center.) 

Could T only find the key, 

I would take out a bottle and sip, 

And pretend to be drunk. 
Alice. {To Betsy.) 

Oh, Betsy! 

We could do the thing for ourselves, 

In half the time it would take 

To try to get her to do it. 
Betsy. Well, I have begun with this girl, 

And I propose to carry it through. 

We shall see how deaf she may be. 

Come here, and take off my gown ! 

{She goes up to Harry and takes his hand, as 
if to carry it to the neck o/her^own,) 



52 The Ranch Girl. 

Harry. If I take off your gown, I will peel 
The skin off with it, I will ; 
And make you, from head to foot, 
As red as a beet, I will. 

(Alice in fright retires tozvard Right Second 
Entrance.) 

Enter — Right Second — Gall. 
Betsy. (Catching a sight of Gall, and there- 
fore becoming bold.) 

You ugly, insolent creature ! — 

And you know no better than that? — 

To talk like that to a lady? — 
Harry. Oh, a lady, are you, a lady! 
Betsy. A lady, yes, from New York. 
Harry. {Bowing and speaking sarcastically.) 

I am glad that you told me of that. 

I should never have guessed it, never. 

I was not brought up as you were— 

Not used to your lady-like ways. 
Betsy. Not used to it, eh ? take this ! 

(Slaping Harry on the cheek.) 
Alice. Oh, Betsy, Betsy, stop ! — 

You will get us all into trouble. 
Betsy. Who cares a fig if I do? 

(Looking at Gall, who also seems to protest.) 

I say I shall make that woman 

Take off my gown, I shall. 
.Enter — Left Upper — Winnie. 
Harry. (Suddenly pulling off his wig.) 

You will not. You shall keep it on. 

(Betsy shrieks and sinks into a chair. Alice 
and Winnie rush to assist her.) 

CURTAIN. 



The Ranch GirL 5^ 



ACT FOURTH. 

Scene: Same as in Act First. 

{The curtain rising, discloses the traveling hand 
of Singers. They are sitting or standing 
around a table where they have, evidently, been 
eating or drinking. 

First Singer. I like to get back where I have 

been. 
Second Singer. You never can get back there, 

The world keeps whirling around 

And grinding out something new. 
First Singer. There is nothing new here. 
Second Singer. Who knows? — 

Since we were here last week, 

A good many things may have happened 

To change the whole course of the lives 

Of those that we met here then. 
First Singer. However men may be changed, 

These mountains remain the same. 
Second Singer. And their echoes. 
Third Singer. Come, start them again. 

THEY sing: 

Our lives are vapors forced to roam, 

Of sun and storm the prey ; 
But cling like mists, with hills their home, 

Together while they may. 
Chorus : And friends, whatever may come to you,. 

Join hand and voice with mine, 
And swear the love that here we knew 
' Shall never know decline. 

Our lives are vapors, whirled through skies, 

Where some by storms are torn. 
And some the sunlight glorifies. 
And some to heaven are borne. 
Chorus: But, friends, whate'er may come to you,, 
etc. 



54 The Ranch Girl. 

Our lives are vapors wrecked and lost. 

None sail their journey through. 
Ere long behind some blow that tost, 
Will naught be left but blue. 
Chorus: But, friends, whate'er may come to you, 
etc. 

First Singer. We must wait a full hour, I find. 

Suppose that we take a walk. 
Second Singer. A good suggestion ! 
Third Singer. Yes. 

Exeunt — Right Front — All the Singers. 
Enter — Left Upper — Gall with hat and hoots, 

and Alice in traveling costume. 
Gall. They scarcely can make up now. 
Alice. No ; easier for a cyclone 

Not to uproot a twig, 

Than the way she was blowing at him 

Not to uproot his love. 
Gall. The engagement then will be broken? 
Alice. More certainly than the stalk 

Of a twig, did you try to wipe 

Its roots with its every leaf. 
Gall. I have just received a note 

Which shows that her friends at home 

Were set on the match. You know 

That Betsy has nothing. 
Alice. I know. 

Gall. And is likely now to get more 

Of the same commodity. 
Alice. Yes ; 

But she herself is to blame. 
Gall. And yet I should like to help 

The friends at home, if I could; 

Or, at least, to say I had tried it. 
Alice. But what can we do? 
Gall. {Shrugging his shoulders.) 
Why you, 

Perhaps, you might talk to her, Alice. 
Alice. You think, then, that she would listen? 
Gall. Of course, always talking herself! — 

It is hard to blow at a gale. 

We might both of us tackle Merriman. 
Alice. And both of us might be thrown. 
Gall. I fear that we might. But there — 

She is coming I see ; and yonder. 



The Ranch Girl, 55 

{Looking toward Right Front Entrance.) 

Is Merriman too. Suppose 

You try to blow up the one, 

While I blow dov/n the other; 

It may even the temperature, 

When the two are brought together. 
Enter— Left Upper— Betsy. 
Exit — Right First — Gall. 
Betsy. I thank the heavens, at last, 

We have left that stuffy old ranch; 

And are nearer to civilization. 

But, for one, I fail to see 

Why they should have followed us here. 
Alice. What v/ould you have had them do? 
Betsy. Stay back there with their cows 

And sheep and dogs and asses, 

Stay back there, where they belong. 
Alice. But we are about to leave, 

And they wanted to be polite. 
Betsy. Well, I never judge of people 

By what they are on the surface. 
Alice. I feared that you did — of Harry. 

But, after that dressing down 

You gave him, I guess — 
Betsy. Better say 

That, after his dressing up, 

I gave him what he deserved. 
Alice. Now, Betsy, control your temper; 

And try to make up to Harry. 

Your match ought not to be broken ; 

And, at times, a trouble like this, 

When coming between old friends. 

Which, if cherished, would turn out a bomb 

To burst and blast all love. 

If treated as merely a joke 

Will explode, and end in a laugh. 
Betsy. But I see nothing to laugh at. 

He insulted us both so grossly. 

It is hardly once in a life time. 

That one could be more insulted ; 

He made us think him a servant. 

It was all his fault. 
Alice. Perhaps 

He may judge of it so, himself. 

You can treat it as half a joke. 



LolC. 



56 The Ranch GhL 

And half a mistake, you know. 
Betsy. It was all a mistake — and his — 

His putting on that girl's gown; 

And staying with her alone ! — 

A bold, bad girl that she is. 
Alice. But if she be bold and bad, 

He had a good chance, at least, 

To find it out, you know. 
Betsy. So you are defending him, eh? — 

I had not supposed coming west 

Was going to corrupt you, too. 
Alice. But the reasons have all been explained.. 
Betsy. Not a word, would I believe 

That either of them could say. 

Not a word — you know it too ! 

You are just as bad as they are. 

(Beginning to cry.) 

Alice. Come, Betsy, come, cheer up. 

When 3^ou reach New York, once more, 

The people will be to your taste. 
Enter — Right Upper — Gall. 
Betsy. They will not go sneaking around 

Dressed up like girls. 
Gall. (Aside.) No, no; 

How fortunate ! If they did. 

Very few of them might marry. 

(To Betsy.) 

This is merely a matter of taste. 

I, Betsy, although a man. 

Would very much rather have seen 

A live man dressed like a girl 

Than a dead man dressed not at all. 
Betsy. (Indignantly.) 

You horrid ! 
Gall. It would have been one, 

If not the other, I take it. 
Enter — Right First — Harry. 

But here is your friend. He has come 

To make up, perhaps ; and, Alice, 

I want 3^ou here for a moment. 
Exeunt — Left First — Alice and Gall. 
Harry. (To Betsy.) 

We have been good friends. 
Betsy. (Embarrassed and hypocritically.) 
Yes, yes; 

It is good of you, Harry, it is, 



The Ranch Girl. 57 

To come and make up, once more. 

Such a joke, you know, such a joke! 
Harry. A practical joke; yes, yes! 
Betsy. And you really thought it was not? 
Harry. {With concealed sarcasm.) 

Oh, no ; I thought that it was. 
Betsy. {Rather suspiciously.) 

And so see something to laugh at? 
Harry. {Looking at her.) 

Oh, yes ; I see something to laugh at. 
Betsy. Yes, Harry, of course ; it is like you, 

I felt you could see the joke. 

{ArtiUcially.) 

And all will be just the same 

As if you had been always a man, 

You bad thing, and I — 
Harry. A lady? 

Betsy. You have always known, now, Harry, 

How much I have thought of you, yes? 
Harry. You used some very strange language 

About me there on the ranch. 
Betsy. But I was provoked, you know. 
Harry. I see. — Are you often provoked? 
Betsy. I lost myself then; and you — 
Harry. I discovered you? 
Betsy. {With a decided change of manner.) 
Well, I suppose 

You think it an honest thing 

To disguise yourself, and listen 

To what was meant for another. 
Harry. The lightning from a clear sky 

Never burst upon one more quickly 

Than you upon me in that guise. 

How could I have been more embarrassed? 

This fact, at first, and then 

The drift of what you were saying 

Made explanations from me 

Impossible. Who could have made them — 

Without being too impolite? 
Betsy. And yet you could be insulting? 
Harry. Now, pardon me, but. Miss Blinder, 

You were first insulting to me. 
Betsy. To you — oh, no! — to the servant 
Harry. True courtesy shows itself 

To the least as well as the greatest. 

If once a lady then always. 



58 The Ranch Girl, 

Betsy. If once a gentleman, always — 
Harry. What I tried to prevent, when first 

I came on you dressed as a girl, 

I did not prevent. My appearance 

I see disenchanted you. 
Betsy. Yes. 

Harry. Then, for one, if it had to happen, 

Thank God that it came when it did ! 
Betsy. I suppose that too is polite. 
Harry. (Pointing toward the restaurant, and 

offering his arm.) 

Shall I take you into your luncheon? 
Betsy. (Drawing back stifly.) 

I prefer to go by myself. 
Exit — Right Second — Betsy, ivith a sarcastic 

bozv. 
Harry. (To himself.) 

I think that better accords 

With the way in which she was brought up. 

I want to be kind and just, 

And to do what is fit; and yet. 

To be kind to her — real kind — 

One should treat her like one of her kind; 

To be just to her — real just — 

One ought to do just as she does; 

And to fit her moods — fit well — 

One ought to get into her fit. 

I will not. I have tried something else 

That fits me a great deal better. 
Enter — Left Upper — Gall and Winnie, unseen 

by Harry. 
Gall. (To Winnie.) 

Oh, there is your friend over there ! 

Would you like to speak to him now? 
Winnie. (Looking back toward Left Upper En- 
trance.) 

I will speak to my brother here first; 

And be back in a moment. 
Exit — Left Upper — Winnie. 

Gall. (Looking carefully at Harry, then ad- 
vancing and placing his hand on his shoulder.}- 
Why what 

Is the matter? — You seem excited? 
Harry. I have been. 
Gall. Humph, humph ! you are. — 

Your engagement? — 



The Ranch GirL 59 

Harry. She broke it. 

Gall. She did? 

I thought that must follow ; and you ? — 
Harry. When some things break, you know, 

They bring — 
Gall. A wrench? 

Harry. No — a snap. 

Gall. (Shaking his hand violently.) 

Congratulate you. 
Harry. I thank you. 

You know what reasons I have. 

But being her uncle, you might — 
Gall. I married her mother's own sister; 

And I — I mean what I say. 

(Shaking Harry's hand vigorously, then seeing: 
Winnie.) 
Enter — Left Upper — Winnie. 

But I think, just now, I am wanted — 

Away from here. Good-bye ! 
Exit — Right First — Gall. 
Winnie. (To Harry.) 

I have brought a package of letters 

That Foodie saved from the clothes 

That the men were robbing you of. 

I had almost forgotten about them. 

(Handing Harry a package of letters.) 
Harry. I thank you ; and more for your riding 

Out here to see us all off. 
Winnie. The most thanks are due from us. 
Harry. How so? 
Winnie. For saving the ranch 

From the boys when they wanted to drink. 
Harry. It was you that had first saved me. 

And, Miss Lorn, do you know I am thinking 

That you have been saving me, too. 

Not alone from those threatening men, 

But threatening — 
Winnie. What? 

Harry. No matter ! 

Had you heard that I was engaged? 
Winnie. Mr. Gall has told me about it. 
Harry. And told you who was the lady? 
Winnie. His neice, he said — Miss Blinder. 
Harry. But you know the row that we had? 
Winnie. We ought not to talk about her. 
Harry. But you were the one to blame. 



6o The Ranch Girl, 

Winnie. But I — I had no means — 
Harry. I got — nothing mean from you — 

Were responsible nevertheless. 
Winnie. For what? 
Harry. My appearance in skirts. 

They disenchanted her, yes. 

My suit was not a success. 

That suit you had forced upon me ; 

You forced upon me a suit — 

Do you understand? — What say you? 

{Taking her hand. Winnie draws hack.) 

Do you like me best in — kilts? — 

I am going away to-day; 

And may not see you for years. 
Winnie. Of course we had a good time; 

But when you get back to the East, 

Are you perfectly sure that a man 

Of the world like you — 
Harry. I am sure 

That a man of the world like me 

Should have found all the sport that he wants 

With gamboling lambs all about 

And a Paradise — 
Winnie. Joking now! 

Harry. Oh, no; I am not — just try me. 

I should like to be tried for my life — 

As I was on the ranch ; and tied 

By ranch hands, too, that I know. 

{Taking one of her hands in each of his.) 
Winnie. But they set you free. 
Harry. No, no ; 

They made me a slave — Humph ! — Foodie ! 
Enter — Left Second — Foodle. 
FooDLE. It would be a mighty good thing 

If some of you folks could tell 

Which baggage here is your own. 
Exit — Left Second — Foodle. 
Harry. Just what I wanted to know. 

Could you solve the problem for me? 
Exeunt — Left Second — Winnie and Harry. 
Enter — Right Second — Gall and Betsy. 
Betsy. I wonder I ever gave him 

A civil word in my life ! 
•Gall. I guess he wonders the same. 

Truth is, you were off your guard. 

The door of your heart stood ajar. 



The Ranch Girl, 6i 

Betsy. You mean — 

Gall. I mean, Miss Betsy, 

That all your talk to that servant, 

And of that servant and Harry, 

Was unkind with the hollow ring 

Of a heart not filled with love. 
Betsy. His insult had been so gross ! — 

I lost my temper, and then — 
Gall. Perhaps he had never learned 

What women take for insults. 

He has never been married, you know. 
Betsy. You are getting sarcastic, uncle. 

How could I be civil to him? — 

A man half-dressed, and in skirts. 
Gall. A true lady never is civil 

To one on account of his dress. 

For my part, I wish that all men, 

Who ever expect to be married, 

Could get into a woman's clothes 

Before they get into her clutches. 
Betsy. And what would they find, pray, in there? 
Gall. Why, first, a good deal of sham. 

You know what a maid is? 
Betsy. What ? 

Gall. Why, what but a thing that is made? 
Betsy. That is scarcely a new accusation. 
Gall. Few very true thoughts are new ones. 

There are some society women ; 

And you are one of them, Betsy, 

Who in character often seem 

Just what they are in appearance. 

Three fourths of their substance is dress; 

And all of the soft sleek satin 

And silk is on the outside. 
Betsy. And what on the inside, pray? 
Gall. Well, very extensively, pins. 
Betsy. (Wiping her eyes, as if crying.') 

You are cruel. 
Gall. A cry is much better 

Than never washing the rouge off. 
Betsy. And barbarous ! 
Gall. Wish I could make 

Your soul as clean as a barber 

Can make my face ! 
Betsy. You know 

' I have always been good and religious. 



62 The Ranch Girl, 

Gall. And so were those who stabbed 

And killed the martyrs of old. 

They were all of them very religious. 

But not even their daggers could wound 

Like the sting of a woman's tongue. 

For that can kill the soul. 

If ever you marry, Betsy, 

Your husband's hand may be hard; 

And his face have a beard like a bear's 

But, simply because he is human. 

His heart may be soft as a babe's ; 

And the one needs a woman's love 

As much as ever the other. 

He would never have asked for this love 

Had he failed to need it, Betsy. 

Most young men, too, imagine 

That the woman they love is an angel. 

She is not, of course ; but they think so. 

And if, when you get them married. 

And they come to you for rest, 

With as holy a feeling as if 

They were coming to heaven itself, — 

If then, you sting, merely sting them. 

The devil himself could not match 

Your driving them down to hell ; 

And when you have driven them there. 

Your prayers, your meetings, your psalm-tunes, 

Your beads, your Bibles, your prayer-books, 

Your charities and your virtues 

Can never conjure one charm 

To keep the devil away 

From them or from you. 
Betsy. You are losing 

Your self-control. 
Gall. Are you frightened? — 

I wish I could frighten the devil 

That lives inside of you, out of you. 

I have just had a note here, Betsy, 

And all of your friends, at home, 

Are talking about this match 

As the one bright hope of your life. 

I know what has broken it now ; 

And I mean you shall learn a lesson. 

You may have another chance yet ; 

But whether you do or not, 

I pray to God that the joy 



The Ra7ich Girl, 63 

Of yourself and your mate may not all 

Be hung on the slender thread 

Of your not having been found out ! 

You ought to take on a new heart 

That, when found out, can be loved. 
Exeunt — Right First — Betsy and Gall. 
Enter — Left Upper — Alice and Lorn. 
Alice. {To Lorn.) 

At times, you can get away then? 
Lorn. I can; and now, my friend. 

That all is made up between us — 
Alice. We may hope to see you soon? 
Lorn. Hope looks above itself. 

It is I that should have the hope. 
Alice. True worth seems always above 

The lives that feel that they need it. 
Enter — Left Upper — Winnie and Harry. 
Harry. {Taking Winnie's hayid and standing 

in front of Lorn.) 

But would your brother accept me? 
Lorn. {Startled for a moment, then shaking 

Harry's hand vigorously, then Winnie's.) 

Most heartily, yes. Why, Winnie, 

If you are to leave the ranch, 

Perhaps I will leave it, myself. 

But whether you do or not, 

You are paid in your own coin now 

In the shape of this new sister. 

{Waiving his hand toward Alice, ivho shakes 
hands with Winnie and kisses her, then both 
shake hands zvith Harry.) 

Harry. {To Lorn.) 

But from what I have heard of you, 

You ought to have married before. 
Lorn. In the words of the one who controlled 

her, 

I had to wait until 

Ihad shown myself a man. 
Harry. And I had to wait until 

I had shown myself a woman. 
Winnie. {To Harry.) 

No, no; do not flatter yourself. 

You played the part pretty well ; 

But you did not look it, Harry, 

And you did not v/ork it, at all. 



64 The Ranch GirL 

Lorn. You hardly seem very sorry 
For that. 

Winnie. Not very. I like him 

For what he really is. 

Harry. {'To Winnie.) 

That is just why I like you. 

I am not the only one here 

That has shown himself when playing 

The ranch girl. You, my Winnie, 

Have shown — as clearly as light — 

Amid all that might rid the ranch 

Of the rules of the drawing room, yes. 

That you are one who could never 

Be anything less than a lady. 

(Lorn, Alice, Harry, Winnie.) 

curtain. 



END. 



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